Past Tense, Perfect Tense
by Atman
Summary: Quistis ruminates her biggest failure in the room where he used to live, before all traces of him are gone. Three-shot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Don't own and don't profit from anything related to Final Fantasy VIII.

This is an attempt at first person narration. I don't think I do it well and I would love any advice on how to "get in a character's head." I hope you enjoy.

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><p>It's a bit of a curse that I'm completely unable to resist reading any bit of information that's new to my eyes. Instruction manuals, nutrition labels, dedications on buildings, et cetera, et cetera... Sure, it's come in handy on some occasions, but more often than not it's just a way to pass, or waste, the time. On this particular day it was a work order that my eyes couldn't pass up.<p>

I was walking after a short session in the training center late in the evening. After denying the impulse to snack in the cafeteria, I made my way back toward the dormitories to shower and retire for the night. By some small miracle, none of my friends had physically determined my plans on _this _night and was lying in wait to thwart them. It had been just a few days since Ultemecia's defeat and the orphanage gang had been inseparable since. I took notice of the sign on my right, a bold, red header, followed by an assignment order number, taped haphazardly on the door.

Since these were pretty rare (things just didn't seem to break down in the dorms) and since I have the aforementioned obsession to read everything on which my eyes alight, I read the note.

_**Tomorrow 5/17**_

_**Remove all non-furniture items**_

I didn't make it any further. The only real reason items would be removed was when a SeeD or cadet was killed and their personal effects were sent away to family, if they had any. My eyes traveled up to the room number and that's when I realized that I stood in front of Seifer's old dorm.

Had anyone been around to see it, it might have been a comical sight; a former instructor and publically pronounced heroine standing in an old tee shirt, floppy grey sweat pants that read 'SeeD' across the butt like some lewd invitation, a small sheen a sweat about her neck where a small duffle bag hung, and replete with an absurd, glasses-free, open-mouthed gape in front of the former home of her biggest failure. A thousand thoughts fought furiously to take the forefront of my mind, but only one succeeded, so after a moment I punched in the universal code that unlocks all of Balamb Garden's doors, and stepped inside Seifer Almasy's dorm. Former dorm.

The door slid shut behind me and I took a look around after I set my duffle bag down on his desk. Everything was as it was, I imagine, when he broke out of the brig after failing his last exam. When he goaded me long enough about favoring Squall that I felt some guilt, and he pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered that favoring him wouldn't have been wasted. That was just before he took advantage of my confusion, shoved me hard into the wall and opened the door, locking it behind him with the keys he snaked from behind my waist. From there he went swashbuckling away to rescue some rookie SeeDs and the town of Timber...

Standing there, I found it was hard to think of Seifer in the past tense. It just didn't seem possible that someone so irrepressible could be thought of as not being, doing, living. Much as Squall had likely thought after we were informed of his false death in Galbadia Garden, before his life's only tirade... I sat in his chair and snorted derisively at myself, the instructor still in me coming out. _You've been thinking of him in the _perfect_ tense, not past. _I silently cursed the instructor in me: she was right. Linguistics made perfect what history could not.

His room was Spartan, very little in the way of decoration was shown. Surprisingly, it wasn't all that messy either. Only one day's outfit was strewn on the floor, many others cleaned in a basket, waiting to be put away. He had a few books on a shelf and one on the coffee table next to a months old cup of desiccated brew. It was an historical account of prior sorceresses and knights with a few tabs sticking out. I'd have to look at it later. Some homework was strewn about next to the book, and the instructor in me noted that what little was done was correct. On the wall opposite his bed he'd posted the testing results from his failed SeeD field exams. I sighed.

**Conduct: 47  
><strong>**Judgment: 0  
><strong>**Attack: 100  
><strong>**Spirit: 100  
><strong>**Attitude: 71**

The numbers didn't change much over time. So much wasted talent. So much wasted life. He never was scored on the Judgment portions because he never opted to complete his prerequisites and obtain a guardian force, not to mention that he exercised a bit too much judgment in the field. He always expected his companions to keep up with him, even when he defied or ignored orders and put them in danger. Underneath the results rather brazenly out in the open was a bottle of whiskey, unopened. It had a note attached, scrawled in his distinctive impatient handwriting, "to be opened by a SeeD."

I set down the bottle and took a look at the top of his dresser. Almost as an afterthought there sat a picture of him and Rinoa, framed against a brilliant Timber sunset. He was holding her and she was smiling widely looking up at him.

Suddenly I felt waves of guilt dragging me with an undertow force into the depths of depression. I felt guilty for looking through the personal life of a dead man, who was spending what was effectively an eternity in Time Compression. I felt guilty that, when I'd had the chance, I hadn't known him personally. I felt guilty that I hadn't favored him, or at least treated him fairly, and that I hadn't stopped him before it was too late. I felt especially guilty that I hadn't remembered that even an invincible, confident-to-a-fault man, was once someone's boy; or in his case no one's boy, and all boys need help to become men, no matter how capable they are. He was a boy I once knew, _And a man that I never did_. Never would.

I pushed through my guilt, swallowing threatening tears, rationalizing the need to know him better now, through his personal items, before they were all gone. But what I saw next pushed my guilt into another realm entirely. In the top drawer of his dresser was a decade old photograph of six young children standing in front of a young woman with brown hair, and an older couple, smiling contentedly. Cid and Edea… Ellone holding Squall's hand, Zell sticking out his chest and sporting a huge grin, Selphie, clutching a glum Seifer's neck affectionately, me, looking like I was trying to better arrange the row of children, and Irvine blowing a kiss to the camera. Where did he get the photo? None of the other orphans had a copy that I was aware of. It dawned on me then.

_He remembered. He's always remembered us_.

It was a sobering thought and it made me want to get drunk. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and removed the corked top; after all, I was a SeeD, right? It looked and smelled like it was a fine top-shelf liquor. I took a draught, felt the pleasant warm pain as it slid down my throat, and set it on the nightstand next to his bed with the picture, coughing a little. With the whiskey, I tried to drink in the man.

I opened his closet. Inside there were a number of cadet uniforms, neatly pressed, that were probably never worn. Some of his casual clothes hung on hangers, copies of his charcoal slacks, and the royal blue vest, a sweatshirt and sweater here and there. And on the end; his second trench coat.

What compelled me, I don't know, but I felt I had to put it on. I appreciated the coat instantly. It was pleasantly heavy, subtly woven with high strength fibers that made an effective armor, in the length it could hide main and side arms, it captured body heat but remained ventilated surprisingly well. Moving in front of the full-length mirror, I looked ridiculous: the coat dragged along the floor, my fingers just peeked through the sleeves, and the lapels stretched up to my nose, where I deluded myself into thinking that it would still smell of him. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't, but I didn't trust my senses just then.

On impulse (but then, what had I done in the past ten minutes that wasn't on impulse?) I checked the pockets and found a steno pad with a pen. I opened the pad of paper, started to the read the text… The List! The infamous "List." I still remembered when he ordered that Raijin put me on it after I wished him luck twice.

Sure enough, "Instructor Trepe" was written at the bottom. I smiled despite myself.

I moved over to his bed, his coat still draped over my shoulders, weighing heavily on them, and lay down. Taking another swig of the whiskey, which somehow tasted even better than it first did, I perused the rest of "The List."

_Doughnuts from that bakery in Balamb, Zell's T-Board, all signs for the Garden Festival and Trepie sign-up sheets, Zone's stupid news press, Rinoa's hairbrush… _It went on and on. But what the hell was it for? It looked like a mixture of a grocery list and a countdown of the things he probably hated, plus a few "to-do" items as well.

Pushing the list back in the pocket from whence it came, my thoughts turned to Rinoa. I wondered if the girl who had known Seifer for less than half a year had known him better than I did, unknowingly knowing him my whole life. I still remember the way she held him with such reverence when we all discussed his supposed death. She had loved him once. Had seen him carry his confidence over to her in his efforts to get her to reach her dreams. In retrospect, it seems clear that she saw a lot of things in him that I never did, and now I doubt whether I didn't see them because they weren't there. I just don't think I was looking.

He'd turned away, probably, long ago, sometime after we'd turned our backs on him.

The room became for me some strange combination of museum and mausoleum and I continued to work on the bottle, an offering to a god who wouldn't consider it a sacrilege. I let my head settle in his pillow and convinced myself that I could really now smell him. A pleasant mixture of sun, sweat, and citrus. I drank it all in. The scents. The whiskey. The pictures. The memories.

I think that the alcohol helped me to bridge the two halves of my brain and think retrospectively on the events that had transpired in the past several months. Hyne knew there wasn't time to think about those things when they happened.

The person so many are calling a traitor was infallibly loyal to the only person he could ever count as family. He protected matron. And… Probably us too. Our clashes seemed more like pretty flashes for the camera, or sorceress, than life-or-death struggles. It suddenly became hard to believe that the man who reversed the Zantetsuken fell on his proverbial sword when facing us. And the Aura spells we drew from him were a godsend; without them I'm not sure we could have survived our final battles. He was the only person I knew who could perform a limit break if something so much as hurt his _feelings _let alone when lying near death. He must have gone easy on us.

I laughed, possibly causing anyone nearby to think the room was haunted. Wasn't it? I could feel him. As I took another drink to his memory he laughed with me and not at me as it seemed in the past.

Pushing the covers down, I got fully in bed, wondering idly how many other women had been in this bed. How many had left to find it cold in the morning like I would? Not as cold as I would find it.

How many climbed too close to the sun, when I had refused to see it shine or feel its warmth?

I was getting too sentimental, and tired, so I capped the liquor after one more drink, and pulled the covers up to my chest, still wearing his coat. I savored the smell and let what memories come that would, thinking that they would disappear whether or not I experienced them now, and wanting to take the ephemeron for granted.

I'd always taken Seifer for granted, just like the sun. That night I took him for granted one last time, all selfishness and with a newly acquired sense of respect and affection.

On that night I let the warmth and strength of the sun envelop me.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke to sounds outside the door. Despite the cloying heaviness behind my eyes, I react quickly, shoving the covers off and scanning the room for somewhere to hide. Immediately, I discount the bathroom and under the bed. Turning, I find the closet the closest and best choice. Quickly and quietly I shut the door and lodged myself in the corner. I was still able to see through the slits in the door, but in my haste to find a hiding spot, I missed the words being spoken outside.

Then there was a telltale clicking of the door unlocking, a few more muffled words, and the short hiss of the door sliding open. It was still dark (and I was still pretty intoxicated) so I knew it wasn't yet morning. Who would be coming in here at this time of the night?

_You know, besides crazy, guilt-ridden, former instructors looking for something they could no longer find and getting pretty drunk all alone?_

Some light from the hall spilled in, creating a halo on the floor around the shadow of a person who hesitated to come in. A couple of slow, heavy footsteps inside and the door slid shut. The person sat down at the desk. A cardboard box fell on the floor, echoing loudly before a desk light flicked on.

The desk was not in my line if sight from where I stood in the corner of the closet. I considered moving to the other end to have a better vantage point, but I feared making too much noise and I had no way to explain why I was there, nor occlude my embarrassment for having no _rational _explanation for anything I'd done that night. Breathing shallowly, I waited for the person to expose himself.

I was reasonably certain it was a male because of the heavy footfalls and the loud breathing I could hear. Was the moving crew here already? This seemed somewhat reasonable conclusion, as passersby watching the worldly possessions of the former sorceress' knight would make for a difficult and distracting time in the middle of a day full of classes and training.

So then, why wasn't he packing anything?

There was a slow, long sigh, followed by a second as the chair was released its burden. A breath I thankfully didn't need caught in my throat. It was _him_...

In the middle of the room, an apparition, revenant, or some figment of my imagination, stood glowering at the box on the floor. It was a weary and haggard visitor with shoulders slumped and face drawn, a poor facsimile of the Seifer I knew. Didn't know_. _

_Until recently, maybe._

His trench coat was riddled with holes and long ragged tears. Its color no longer resembled anything close to white, instead, a patchwork of dark stains and dirty pilled fibers. He shrugged it off with a grunt and it practically disintegrated from his shoulders to the floor. Underneath, the white and blue shirt fared little better, but had few tears to break up the blood stains.

The… Ghost's… body shook with an exhaled breath. Dried blood and fresh scars on his body reminded me of our last encounter and I found that I had a dichotomy of instincts spurring my thoughts: on one hand I felt that in knowing him through his things, he was, if not kind, then at least loyal and sentimental, lost and lonely. On the other hand there was no stopping the impression that his muscles gave shifting under that shirt. It made me feel like I was watching the silhouettes of encircling sharks just below the water's surface, waiting to strike. Part of me didn't believe he could be alive after spending the evening accepting his death.

It had been close to a week, and not a soul in the world filled with torches and pitchforks looking for him had seen a glimpse of him, while the rest of us emerged from time compression mostly together and made our way home. Below my conditioned fear a subdued elation at the thought of maybe knowing him in life kindled. I just hoped that the fear was unfounded, that the past few encounters did not make a trend, and that knowing could lead to knowing better. Without a fight to the death.

He slowly lifted his head and looked around. When he walked to the dresser, he shed his shirt. Stretching his arms in the air, the Latissimus dorsi muscles pulled at shockingly prominent Serratus and the rest of the massive back violently shoved aside the shoulders and traps to make room. My drunken mind stopped fearing for a moment and wondered at the possibility of using him for an anatomy lesson in class. Better live prominent flesh than flayed open models, right? Well, maybe not for everyone. He pulled a t-shirt from his top drawer and put it on. When he went to shut the drawer he stopped and the momentary elation I felt fled quickly.

Digging in the drawer, his eyes squinted and narrowed predatorily. He slammed it shut and lifted his nose in the air, sniffing.

I involuntarily shrunk into the corner.

"Somebody's been looking through my stuff." He stalked over toward the bed, sniffed again, and saw the picture, grimacing. Then his eyes moved to the whiskey.

"Somebody's been drinking my booze." I was sure he could smell more than the alcohol, since I had spritzed myself after leaving the training center. Panicking, I tried to think of a way to escape, come up with some explanation, or just some way to take off the damn coat without signing my death warrant, for if nothing else, invading the privacy of an intensely private man.

He was smirking now, moving closer, ever the picture of a wolf with his feral grin and prowling gait, stopping to observe and to take in the smells around him.

"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed." I'd had no time to make it. I was so screwed.

_Maybe, if you get lucky._

And my alcohol addled brain wasn't helping my tactical assessment. He'd moved in front of the closet now. "…And she's still here."

He opened the door. I stood there, my diaphragm taking the opportunity to hiccup, probably looking like a child playing dress-up with daddy's clothes, eyes wide, cheeks red, and a half-smile of the utmost guilt plastered on my lips. For his part, he didn't move. He just kept his hand casually draped on Hyperion, body absolutely relaxed in the way that made me know he was in complete control of it, ready to defend or skewer at less than a moment's notice. I might not have known better, but I'd venture to guess that blank face was actually holding a myriad of thoughts and emotions. Humor, confusion, and a burgeoning relief to name a few. He smiled. A genuine smile, so achingly rare and beautiful I almost reached out to him right then to confirm he was truly there, and happy.

"Ah, Goldilocks. Should have known." He dropped his hand but not the grin. His arms folded in front of his chest and I reached out to touch him then. A frown appeared as he backed away. I looked up into his eyes. They were red, with black circles underneath, sheen of tear around the rims, and they narrowed suspiciously.

"Seifer…" He reacted to the surprise in my tone and the whiskey on my breath. "How… How did you get here?"

"I walked."

My mouth fell into its new comfort of hanging open. "How did you make it out of time compression?"

He shrugged. "I walked really, really far." Somehow I believed him. I hiccupped again. "Quistis," He looked at the third-gone bottle. "Are you drunk? What are you doing in here?" I didn't think he was anywhere near as suspicious or angry as he should have been and I smiled up at him.

"You said my name." I walked out and finally succeeded at touching his face when he didn't back away.

"Well, I guess that answers my first question…" I stumbled out into him, having lost the fear, but still feeling foolish as I wrapped my hand around his waist to stay upright. "And maybe the second." He paused. "You know, my birthday isn't until winter. Did you know I was coming back?"

I sat down on his bed after taking off the coat; it was too hot. "No. I thought you were dead." I admitted. "And your birthday is on the boreal solstice, why do you mention it?" He laughed shortly. _Oh… _"I thought those kinds of surprises hid in cakes and wore _less_ clothing."

"Yes, well, that is the idea generally, but I wouldn't put it past someone like Tilmitt to get it wrong while planning. I should probably expect the kinds of surprises that preclude the need for more birthday parties…"

It was my turn to frown. "I don't want you dead."

He sat down a few feet from me. "That would put you firmly in the minority." He takes in all the things I've moved around and looks at me again while I avert my eyes. "Looks like you had a night to remember, Trepe."

I grinned at his, intentional or not, double entendre. "You could say that." His eyes were more understanding than I remembered. I don't know why I didn't notice since they always took so much in. I reached for the whiskey again. "Have a drink with me."

"Can't say I couldn't use one." He walked to get a couple of glasses, but I couldn't help but notice the deflated look he gave me. I ripped off the note he wrote on the bottle. I poured him a tall glass and a smaller one for me. "To the future." I raised my glass and he followed suit and drank, his throat taking in half the glass before he set it down.

As he looked at me so intently in the next moments, I couldn't help but feel that he learned all of my thoughts and intentions with just his gaze. Seifer shook his head a little when I turned to look at him. I didn't know what to say to him, so I just stared, swaying ever so slightly.

"Undertow eyes…"

"What?"

"You. You have undertow eyes." He turned away. "The kind that can pull a man into their depths if he isn't careful. Sure, they seem placid enough, but it's clear that there's a lot going on beneath the surface."

"Seifer, I… I came because I saw the notice on the door. I wanted to see what was left from you before it was gone. I… I…" I faltered and couldn't come back, so I sipped my drink.

His expression was raw, but unreadable. He nodded. "Some things are easier done than said, Quistis."

I looked at him again, then nodded.

Seifer got up and swallowed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down. He picked up the two pictures that were out and began to pack them away, along with his clothes, books, and trinkets. There was a kind of reverence he held for the few things he possessed. Not the kind that said he only valued the things, but what they represented, and that he could still have them for the time he did. I felt like I was watching the world prepare to go off-axis and plunge into eternal darkness. He worked silently and quickly. Soon he cleared out the closet and set the remainder on top of the box. The entirety of his worldly possessions, on his back and in a box.

I'd been lost in thought and hadn't moved when he walked back to the bed and looked at me. "Where will you go?" I asked.

His smile was rueful. "There's nowhere for me to go." He reached across and grabbed the bottle and I felt the closeness of his face. While he drank I scooted closer to him.

"Seifer…" _Easier done than said… _I pulled him into awkward embrace, embarrassed at the hot tears that were falling for opportunities snatched away by fate, and the cruel punishments of lessons learned too late. After a moment, his arm rubbed my back soothingly and he rested his chin on my head.

"I'll be okay Trepe."

I snorted, voice shaking. "You'll be gone."

Sometimes you don't know the comfort and value of constants until they disappear. He was my Polaris. Somehow guiding, even though he didn't remain in the northern sky. In a world where I could revoke the "laws" of physics with a phrase, where multiple beings could occupy one mind, and time and space flew in the face of their own continuum, how could I even be sure that the sun would rise the next day? Seifer's confidence, his strength, his loyalty, his ability to push others' abilities with just the _wrong_ words, his undrowning fire, were the only constants with which I ended up. Only I wouldn't end up with them at all. It was selfish that I thought of what his strength meant to me while he thought of being out in a world that only meant to take it from him.

Slowly, I let go of him, wiping away the remaining moisture on my face. "I'm not going anywhere." He smirked. My heart leapt to see that confidence that had wavered, had never left. "Except to take a shower." He was sure he wouldn't be killed, but I wasn't, and even if he lived, how would running forever be living?

I walked around the now empty room and had some water, my brain still swimming. Sometimes it was rejecting the thought of him leaving, sometimes rejecting the thought of him _here and now_, sometimes rejecting all events of the past four months.

He was surprised, I think, to see me when he came out of the bathroom, with a finger on my lower lip. "Can I stay here tonight?" I blurted. _With you?_

"Sure, I guess. I'll sleep on the couch."

He came to turn off the light. It was 2:24 and we both were tired, I clad in a shirt and sweatpants, he in only boxers and undershirt. I shook my head and grabbed his hand as he reached for the switch. He looked at me with a puzzled expression while I guided him to the bed and pushed him down, gently, making him lay down. Still holding his hand, I lay next to him, and wrapped his arm around me, pulled the covers over us, and turned off the light.

"I just want to be close to you before you go." I murmured.

I felt him nod next to me. "Quistis. The sun will still rise; the world will go on."

"Yes. I know." It caught me aflame with confidence that it would. At least for tonight, I'm sure the sun will rise in the morning, even if it will leave me cold.

"I have to tell you – "

"Easier done than said, right?"

"…Right. But, I can't do this now-"

"No, you can. In the morning." Matins of the penitent and the forgiveness of the star that gives life, and burns, and hides, but always comes back.

"You'll see. Everything will have been worth it."

I turned around and wrapped my arms around him. Sometimes he knew just the _right _words to say. _Future perfect tense. _I could believe it from him, believe in a bright future. My face nuzzled into the crook of his neck and I fell asleep.

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><p>Morning came and I was warm.<p>

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><p>Author's note: What do you think? Too fluffy? Out of character? I'm afraid I may have gone into that territory, but it felt like a story that I needed to tell even if maybe everyone is sick of SeiferQuistis. I think there's a lot to explore yet in their interactions.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note and WARNING: All right, first let me confess that after writing each of the first two chapters I was strangely very pleased, but I hadn't finished what I had set out to do originally. I had intended to write a humorous two-shot with a twist, but I'll be damned if the story just wasn't comedic at heart (though I'm slightly ashamed to admit that I do laugh when I think of Seifer's allusions to Goldilocks and the Three Bears). Other aspects started to pop in that seemed appropriate and I liked them, I really did. If you liked where the second chapter ended, I urge you to go no further. It didn't go the direction I thought it would. This chapter also deals with adult situations, innuendo, and topics of sexual nature. I still believe the teen rating is appropriate, but you've been warned.

It may go without saying, that I'm a sucker for the "Villain who isn't as villainous as he might first seem and redeems himself" kind of story, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who is.

MithrandirMoon – In my experience you should never discount the advice of someone who doesn't do what you do. They always have an unbiased perspective that helps put yours in the right place – farther away and more objective. Thank you.

Nikpt-o – I'm glad you still enjoy them and that the "easier done than said" was real for you. Thanks.

Whew… Done now. Hope you enjoy the rest.

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><p>I awoke in the very uncommon position of having my legs tangled with someone else's. There was an arm underneath me that wasn't my own and a warm hand covered the small of my back, fingers following the curve to my waistband. Trying to remember last night, I completed a mental checklist before opening my eyes.<p>

_Two arms... Check. _

_Two legs... Already established, tangled with two others a lot longer than my own. Check. _

_Clothing... Check. _

_Dignity… Well, since I checked off on clothing it must be at least mostly intact .I was only aching in mentionable areas. Check. _

_Hangover… Hmm… _

I could feel the telltale dryness and sour morning-aftertaste of whiskey. A lot of whiskey. But no hangover. I puzzled over this as my head slowly rose and fell from the perch of the chest I lay on. Slowly, it came back to me. The sign on the door, looking through Seifer's things, drinking his alcohol, wearing his coat, falling asleep in his bed, waking and hiding, seeing him seemingly back from the dead, confiding, crying, and finally crawling into bed with him.

He would be going soon.

Without trying to wake him, I pushed myself up the bed, resting my head in the mellifluous crook of his neck and kissed it lightly. I should have known better though, than to think he wouldn't be a light sleeper.

"Mmm…"The sound moved through me from his throat and I smiled. His arm tightened around my waist, gentle steel bands from which I couldn't escape if I wanted. I definitely hadn't wanted. His bottle green eyes focused on me, without the red or bags from the night before, dilated in the foggy morning light. He moved slightly away, expression carefully, and completely alien on him, neutral, wary. I frowned when he caught my hand I moved to trace his cheek. He held it for some time, remaining silent. He must have caught my bemused expression, because he smirked and said. "Esuna. Works wonders on hangovers. I cast it on you when you fell asleep."

That explained why I didn't have a headache or feel like I needed to dry-heave, but I still felt like I was missing something. "Do you remember last night?"

"Yes. You?"

I nodded.

"We didn't do anything. So don't feel obligated…"

"Are you trying to kick me out?" I asked, half amused and half upset.

"No! I just thought that… Maybe you'd have regrets now that you're sober, feel embarrassed, want to flee. Never mind." He sighed heavily and turned and my view became the wall of his back, all brick, rebar, and mortar. It would take more effort than unspoken inebriated apologies and one night spent in his company to repair years of neglecting him and I had little time. Absently, I traced my nails along the numerous cuts and scars on his back, making him shiver, but he didn't back away any further.

I crowded against him, running my hand along his exposed arm. "I only regret not trying sooner." His breath shuddered a little. Lifting my head, I could see his eyes were closed, long sandy lashes and a lock of lighter hair falling over them. I brushed his hair back and sighed. He looked tense, but angelic. "Seifer…" My hand clutched at his chest, eliciting no response.

It trailed down, feeling the contraction of the rectus abdominals, and lining along the definition of the external obliques. I kissed the side of his face. Emboldened by nothing more than not being stopped, and by my own desires, fueled by draining emotions and honeyed scents and by a body that shamed any classical figure given apotheosis by sculpture or painting, I traveled to the inguinal canal. There was a bulge. My limited medical knowledge, the sharp intake of breath beside me, and the fact that Seifer nearly jumped out of bed told me it wasn't a hernia. It definitely wasn't a hernia.

He growled. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't a pleasurable one. Sitting up, he said "Back off, Trepe."

I turned away. Felt the pressing of more failure, shame, and a coming absence that I couldn't brace for as much as I wanted.

Seifer saw the hurt, and he sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm… Just not used to intimacy without violence." I nodded, but didn't turn to him. I could hear the smile in his next words. "Given your forwardness I'd have to guess there wouldn't be any blood."

"You wouldn't have been my first, no."

"I guess your reputation as an untouchable Ice Queen is a little off then." I finally turned around.

"Not so far off. Cold comfort." He gave a sage nod and an even more sage silence. I pressed on, "So you only go for virgins then?"

His eyes widened at my brusqueness. "No."

This surprised me, almost as much as him turning away with a blush. I had to cover my mouth with my hand, hoping he wouldn't notice, to stifle a giggle. "You mean…"

"That's right. Go ahead. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing, Seifer." The hitch in my voice belied my statement. "I guess your reputation as a ladies' man is a little off too. Everyone used to say that you had every girl in Garden around your finger and in your bed." Surprised as I was at the idea of Seifer the Virgin, Seifer the Embarrassed was far too fun to let go.

He shrugged. "Almost every girl." I couldn't tell if that was a pointed remark or not. "Never had much time for them."

"What about Rinoa?"

He shrugged again.

I scooted over to him and held his hand in a way that I hoped was apologetic. "You aren't attracted to me?"

"What? Of course I am. I thought that much was obvious…" I smiled. "Hyne… The way you smell, the way you fit against me, the way your lip pouts just the slightest bit, those eyes. What man wouldn't be?" Even when uncomfortable and tense, Seifer didn't back away, always honest and forthright. "You're everything a man could want. Wit, brains, beauty, and brawn. You shouldn't just give yourself away to some undeserving fool on some stupid whim that he's a fallen angel, bound to disappear any moment."

"I'm not." I said, affronted. "I want to know a man who always deserved me before he's gone."

"I won't take advantage of you Quistis!" He was livid. I maintained my composure, cracking though it was.

"I've been taking advantage of you for years, Seifer. This is something I want. I'm not drunk or drugged. You're not forcing me. I just want you." I don't think I succeeded in keeping the desperation out of my voice.

He sneered. "Just because you're not drunk doesn't mean you're sober. You're not in your right mind Quistis." He looked at the clock. "I have to go."

I realized that he probably thought I pitied him as he climbed over me and went into the bathroom to change. The door slammed before I could say anything. I sat at the edge of the bed until he came back out, looking more harried than I'd ever seen him. It was 7:13. He probably wanted to get out before most of Garden woke up. He shouldered his bag and grabbed mine from his desk.

In two strides he was in front of me. He set the bag down beside me. I heard one of his knees crack as he squatted.

With a hand that was pale and soft from years of wearing gloves for training, he lifted my chin so that I was facing those poisonous, infectious eyes. They were searching, hard, and eloquent. They told me what he'd tried to say earlier, that they would look on, and provide the memories that things could not. They said, "don't miss me, because then I would be truly gone." They said, "find a good man and make sure he deserves you or I'll haunt you both." They said, "don't worry." They said, "it wouldn't have meant what you wanted it to, and it wouldn't have made anything easier or better."

And they said, "everything will have been worth it."

"Quistis." This time it was his mouth talking. "I couldn't say it to you, but I think you'll understand." Then he stretched up, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me, exactly once, reassuring me that I shouldn't be offended at being turned down, but making me lament it all the more. I tried to continue, grasped at him desperately, but he gently, though inexorably, pushed me away. "Quit brooding about what might have been and pay attention to what is and will be. I'll see you around."

_Bastard. _

I couldn't think up any words more painful to hear as he stepped out of the room, box in hand. Tears didn't bother to well up; they just fell. Changing an ocean into a cataract in a moment. That was the power of Seifer Almasy.

It took a while to collect myself. I dried my eyes, got up, and grabbed my bag, taking one last look around. There wasn't anything left to make it his anymore. I breathed heavy, slow breaths and put on my shoes. I walked out the door and nearly ran into someone just a few steps outside, coming toward the room.

"Oh, excuse me" He said, not seeming to notice my still blotchy face. "Say… Aren't you Instructor Trepe? I recognize you from the papers. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I put up a small smile and shook his hand, not saying anything or looking him in the eye.

"I'm Charles. I just transferred from Galbadia." He looked around and walked in front of Seifer's old room. "Looks like this is my new place. Nice to meet you Instructor."

I didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't an instructor. I didn't have the heart to do much of anything.

Setting down the hall again at a plodding pace, I wondered at the fast turnover, and decided it wasn't worth the effort. Despite my downturned gaze I soon tripped on a box in the middle of the hall. I was stepping around it, when Squall came up to me, looking strangely concerned.

"Hey. I've been looking for you." I stopped. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Had a long night."

He nodded, looking, as he shifted his weight to one leg, like he didn't believe me for a moment. Neither did I. "Did you come down here to meet our new Galbadian transfer students?"

"I saw one of them down the hall." _Going to Seifer's old room._

"The other one's right here. You should get to know him." He put his hands up as I narrowed my eyes at him. It did not make me happy to have my friends try to set me up, especially Squall. Especially now. The door opened beside me and Squall smirked. "See you later, Quistis." He started to walk past me, but stopped and put a hand on my shoulder, whispering "Don't let the assumption ruin the epiphany."

I stared at him, confused, wondering when he became so cryptic. _Vocally cryptic. _I turned from one scar interrupted gaze to another as Squall walked away.

"Hey. Aren't you that Instructor Trepe everyone's talking about? Just came from Galbadia. Got tired of the shithead who was running things there for a while after Martine left." I gaped. "The pictures in the paper don't do you justice. I'll see you around." He grabbed the box and walked inside. After a few minutes of mute unpacking, he came back out to see me in the same position, and he nearly ran into me.

He was carrying a pad of paper and a pen, crossing things off the paper.

Irvine chose that moment to come by and politely but firmly lift my lower jaw back into place. "Hey, darlin'. I see you met our new transfer. Great guy.

"So, I'm walking around in Time Compression, minding my own business, when I fall into a time warp. Now don't give me that "I told you to watch out for time warps look," darlin', they were black on black. Anyway, I'm there slipping away, when this, like, total stranger comes along and pulls me out. Somehow got me to the orphanage. Great guy." Irvine shook his hand. "You should get to know each other."

I was already sick of hearing that line. Did everyone know but me? I looked at Seifer's smirk.

He shrugged. "I tried to tell you."

I thought back.

_The voices outside the door. Someone brought him into Garden, back to his room._

_The box. Why had he brought it in and not the movers?_

"_I walked."_

"_There's nowhere for me to go."_

"_I'm not going anywhere."_

"_I'll see you around."_

_The notice. _I hadn't read the whole thing. Seifer handed it to me. The rest read that all items were to be moved four doors away, to a SeeD dorm, making room for a transfer cadet. I slapped my hand to my forehead. Turning to Irvine, I sputtered, "Did you know? No one told me Seifer was coming back."

Irvine frowned and rubbed my hair affectionately. "Seifer? Nah. You're mistaken." He winked. "He's dead. This is a new guy." I stood there confused and he bent down to my ear. "People will see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe. Nobody wants to believe he's back. With a new look." He nudged me. "And a new girl, no one will suspect a thing."

He took a step back, winked again and tipped his hat, before walking off into the sunrise. I turned around. Seifer was still striking things off The List.

I was angry, but only at myself. Seifer stared at me, gaze level, with an unsure smile, telling me he didn't know if this change in circumstance, as far as I was concerned, had changed the way I felt. Or invalidated earlier words and actions.

_Don't let the assumption ruin the epiphany._

I decided it hadn't.

"Did you mean what you said?" I asked.

"Always. Did you mean what you didn't?"

I nodded. "Yes."

His smile wasn't unsure anymore. One more thing came off The List. I grinned.

"Just what is that for anyway?"

"It's for sentencing."

"Sentencing?"

"Yes." He picked me up, still in shock. "To be 'taken from their place and brought 'round to my place.'" I laughed when he took me in his new room, stuffing a Balamb Bakery doughnut into his mouth.

I showed Seifer how I felt. It was easier done than said. I couldn't say it to him, but I think he understood.

* * *

><p>Seifer Almasy is an exceptional man. And unlike what they say so often about exceptional people to make you feel as though they aren't so different, that with some small amount of effort you could be like them, he did <em>not <em>put his pants on one leg at a time. I watched.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I enjoyed reversing the common "histories" of the two characters. That's the end. I hope you enjoyed as much as I did.<p> 


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